Her touch, her kiss, it all was just as numb and cold as he still felt himself. He didn't want her to leave. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, cry on her shoulder for a bit, to kiss her and tell her that everything would be alright.
But he couldn't tell her, he didn't know that and she didn't want to hear it. So he let her go and waited for long, heavy seconds in silence before he finally got up to get his phone from the dresser. It felt like a ton of weights pulled him down and made every step a drag. It didn't help telling himself that it was just a silly appointment, that the doctor would only search her and tell them exactly how things looked.
It wasn't just that, and they would know, every second from now until that checkup would be done. He would know. And though Natasha had his full and unquestioned support in her decisions... Though it was madness even considering the other way, for a shitload of reasons... It hurt and he didn't even fucking know why.
He didn't need to know why, couldn't care, he just had to so his job, as usual, and that thought finally helped. He would do his job like the good little soldier he was and try to forget about all the casualties on the way. That was what was expected of him, right? Now and always.
It became a lot easier after he had fallen into sniper mode. The third call was the right one, the guy on the other end of the line sounded like he knew what he was saying and doing. And though the man with the North Italian accent wasn't opposed at all to a little extra cash for working as fast and discreet as possible, he sounded genuinely interested, capable and compassionate with his questions. Everything would be ready when they would arrive, and that was all Clint could do for now.
He left his phone on the dresser where he had plugged it because it had been completely dead but turned all sound and vibration off, ignoring the indicated missed calls and messages on the display completely. He couldn't care fucking less about what Fury or anyone else could want from him right now.
The calmness and distance lasted until he reached the sofa again and more fell onto it than sitting down. With Natasha next door and not even an electronic voice to talk to anymore, suddenly it was much too quiet. All the words exchanged, requests filed and assurances made, it all came back in a rush before he knew.
Yes, they had thought about it well, no it wasn't pretty but necessary, the mother's body couldn't handle it, they didn't want her endangered or get false hopes up, please see that we get this done as quickly as possible...
It crashed down on him like an ice cold waterfall before he could made an attempt of stopping it. There was no stopping it, no matter how tightly his body curled into a ball, no matter how hard he pressed his face into the next best pillow and tried to get back to meditating, to reciting, to anything that would keep his mind fucking quiet.
It turned out, the sounds of his own dry, forcefully stifled sobs into the pillows wasn't much better.
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Date: 2014-06-09 10:18 pm (UTC)From:But he couldn't tell her, he didn't know that and she didn't want to hear it. So he let her go and waited for long, heavy seconds in silence before he finally got up to get his phone from the dresser. It felt like a ton of weights pulled him down and made every step a drag. It didn't help telling himself that it was just a silly appointment, that the doctor would only search her and tell them exactly how things looked.
It wasn't just that, and they would know, every second from now until that checkup would be done. He would know. And though Natasha had his full and unquestioned support in her decisions... Though it was madness even considering the other way, for a shitload of reasons... It hurt and he didn't even fucking know why.
He didn't need to know why, couldn't care, he just had to so his job, as usual, and that thought finally helped. He would do his job like the good little soldier he was and try to forget about all the casualties on the way. That was what was expected of him, right? Now and always.
It became a lot easier after he had fallen into sniper mode. The third call was the right one, the guy on the other end of the line sounded like he knew what he was saying and doing. And though the man with the North Italian accent wasn't opposed at all to a little extra cash for working as fast and discreet as possible, he sounded genuinely interested, capable and compassionate with his questions. Everything would be ready when they would arrive, and that was all Clint could do for now.
He left his phone on the dresser where he had plugged it because it had been completely dead but turned all sound and vibration off, ignoring the indicated missed calls and messages on the display completely. He couldn't care fucking less about what Fury or anyone else could want from him right now.
The calmness and distance lasted until he reached the sofa again and more fell onto it than sitting down. With Natasha next door and not even an electronic voice to talk to anymore, suddenly it was much too quiet. All the words exchanged, requests filed and assurances made, it all came back in a rush before he knew.
Yes, they had thought about it well, no it wasn't pretty but necessary, the mother's body couldn't handle it, they didn't want her endangered or get false hopes up, please see that we get this done as quickly as possible...
It crashed down on him like an ice cold waterfall before he could made an attempt of stopping it. There was no stopping it, no matter how tightly his body curled into a ball, no matter how hard he pressed his face into the next best pillow and tried to get back to meditating, to reciting, to anything that would keep his mind fucking quiet.
It turned out, the sounds of his own dry, forcefully stifled sobs into the pillows wasn't much better.